Workshop: “Unphotographable Phiction” (sic)

Working alone, you should choose one of Michael David Murphy’s “Unphotographable” posts and create a multimedia narrative. You should use your own images, new or from your archive and you should create an accompanying soundscape.

http://www.unphotographable.com/

Please upload the pieces by next session to vimeo and tag it #phonar.

Links to :

http://www.unphotographable.com/

http://www.michaeldavidmurphy.com/galleries/

Thanks go to Michael (who is currently at the Brighton Fringe in the UK) for kindly allowing #phonar to use his work .

To see this in action the other way around see Fliction http://losowsky.com/portfolio/online/flicktion/(“A new online genre involving taking images from the website Flickr, and writing fictional stories about the images.”)

To see a related market application of this see http://significantobjects.com/about/

My favourite UNphotographable’s

This is a picture I did not take of the interior of a Mexican restaurant in rural North Carolina on the evening of May fifth, and while the restaurant had plenty of “Cinco de Mayo” decorations hanging, it was also Karaoke night and the DJ was exhorting the dinner guests to lift their faces from inside their enchiladas and come on up and sing a song because you really need to get this party started, and while they ignored him and kept eating and downing their cheap margaritas, the DJ rapped a few bars of Jay-Z before switching to a little Toby Keith, crossing the hip-hop / country divide with astonishing speed, until a short man with a war wound bounded-up onstage and told the DJ to play something by System From a Down, and the waitresses looked toward the stage and grimaced as the night slid from festive into something dull and familiar — the entire town, it seemed, including the Sheriff, sitting in this small restaurant piled high with the DJ’s booming speakers, nearly everyone blonde and slowly getting drunk and finding their courage to sing, while outside, crepe paper decorations and even some balloons that were a few days past their prime swung limply, dangling from the parking lot’s Yield sign.

This is a picture I did not take of a U.S. Marshall in a crisp uniform and broad-brimmed hat, standing in front of a freshly foreclosed house in the rain, the front lawn overflowing with everything that was once inside, as trucks that had been circling the block begin to back-up and pull-in from all directions and people start laying their hands on what they claim, elbowing others who are slowly sifting through coffee mugs and magazines, and there, between a couch and a yellow bean bag, a vintage, stand-up, Arcade-style Ms. Pac Man begins to slowly take-in rain and give up its ghosts, right there on a foreclosed front lawn in February.

This is a picture I did not take of a buddhist monk in full red robes, jaywalking through traffic, rocking out to his iPod at seven in the morning.

food for thought…

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